


My Boy

by cocoa_caramel_macchiato_latte



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Abduction, Canon Compliant, Family, Friendship, Graphic Description, M/M, No Slash, Rape, Rape Recovery, Stalking, Supportive Derek, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocoa_caramel_macchiato_latte/pseuds/cocoa_caramel_macchiato_latte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***This is very graphic. Please, Please, Please, if you cannot read something with very graphic descriptions, do NOT read this. Do not even TRY!***<br/>Spencer Reid is taken, and returned. Extremely traumatized, badly wounded, he must rely on the support of his team to make it through. All the while, looking over his shoulder knowing the man who did this to him is still out there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on Ao3, so let me know what you think. Maybe I will continue with it, I could totally pull this off as a one shot, but again let me know. Please if you have a problem with it, do NOT jump down my throat like an angry monkey, like many people I like civilized conversation too. Hopefully, with our conversation I can try to solve your problem. Although, I warn you I am a very busy college student and my schooling comes first, just so you know.

There was a football game on, the Redskins actually, the “only real team to bother watching” according to Clark. It was the only sporting event ever to play on any television in the house, if it wasn't the Redskins, don’t even bother turning it. Unfortunately, he had become very knowledgeable about the rules of the game, however not under the circumstances he would particularly choose or want. Currently the team was winning, and had had very few flags against them, which was good because that meant Clark would be in a good mood which led to the potential of an easy night.

He was on his side, legs curled slightly in order to fit his tall, lanky frame onto the couch. His head was pillowed in Clark’s lap, there were fingers being gently stroked through his hair, occasionally running delicately across his jaw line before coming to rest on his shoulder where the thumb would rub supposedly comforting circles, but only made him shudder.

Vaguely keeping part of his attention on the hand in his hair, he watched the television hazily as the game continued. Drunken eyes watched the pixilated egg-shaped ball be thrown an impressive distant, it was caught and run several yards before the wide receiver was brutally knocked out of bounds. The images on the television blurred for a second as the crews on the sidelines rearranged themselves to compensate for the two two-hundred pound men hurtling at them. A logo swooped across the screen and obnoxious music started playing, the replay was short, barely long enough for the broadcasters to analyze it before the game was back on, the teams in the ready position. On the next play, his heart pitched when the quarterback was tackled, _sacked_ he reminded himself mentally, the ball still in his hand. The legs underneath him shifted angrily, the hand curling slightly in his hair, causing him to stiffen. But he relaxed when the hand started stroking his hair again as if nothing had happened. The game continued.

For a quick moment he let his eyes drift to the surroundings, taking in the olive green walls adorned with knock off paintings in fake-expensive frames. The drapes were ugly, with patches of golden satin and burgundy velvet designs; they were cheap department store drapes that clashed horribly with the rest of the room. Only the furniture looked even remotely designer, there was an expensive oak desk with a computer set up, files were neatly stacked and organized, the matching bench ran against the wall next to the door. A bookcase as tall as the ceiling and with an impressive variety of books sat flush against the wall behind the desk, a rolling ladder attached so as to allow access to the uppermost books, he wasn’t allowed to touch those. Two traditional push-back recliners with turned front feet were arranged just so on either end of the sofa, separated by small square end-tables with steal legs. The sofa itself was a dark brown, leather three-seater, both ends recliner, and to be perfectly honest, rather uncomfortable to lay across on. The house was impressively large for the area, the room’s just-on-this-side of too big, with dramatic arches that reminded him distantly of Jacob Dawes*. Outside the faint sounds of distant traffic could be heard, nothing close by, the driveway was too long. An ominous iron gate completely surrounded the large property, a line of dark trees and pristine hedges blocking all views of the house from street level. Based on short, imaginative adventures to the back yard, the house was flanked from behind with hills and a small forest of trees.

“Shit.”

The sudden language brought him back hastily to his immediate vicinity and once again stiffened. Laying there he forced himself to turn his attention back to the television, his heart pounding. It was clear that the earlier sack had cost them, and there must have been a flag somewhere in-between, because the team was only on a second down with 15 yards to go for a first down. Two plays later it became obvious that the red and gold team was not going to make it across the digitalized yellow line, so teams were swapped and rearranged as the kicker set up. He watched as players with the Redskin logo shifted on the screen, getting ready for the field goal kick, gnawing on his lip as the football was snapped, and was relieved when the ball sailed through the posts.

The legs shifted again and the hand left his shoulder. Then there was rearranging behind him, the obvious signs of a belt being undone, the soft leather flicking at his hair as it was removed from its catch. His breathing sharpened, but he didn’t move, he didn’t dare, even when he felt the legs shift again to get into a more comfortable position. Briefly, his eyes closed as a hand was placed on his shoulder, tightening and giving him a little shake.

“Spencer, do you mind?”

Spencer Reid didn’t have to ask what was meant by that comment. He knew already. Very slowly, his body began shifting, as if by its own accord, rolling clumsily onto his stomach, his full weight now resting on his forearms, holding his upper body up off the sofa. His legs now bent awkwardly with his shins resting at an angle off the arm rest on the far side of the sofa.

Clark’s pants were halfway opened, the belt and zipper already undone, the flaps of the jeans open to reveal the white briefs underneath. He squiggled across his belly briefly in order to get his hands out to shift the jeans more out of the way, and then to the briefs to yank the waistband down just a bit further so that he could have more access. When that was done he managed to grasp his goal and bring it out, settling it down so that it was just inches from his face.  
Hands started petting him, he looked up with tormented eyes, silently pleading for him to be spared this further shame. The only response was a small get-to-it nod before the blue eyes returned to the television set, not even making an effort to see if his pet would continue. Spencer turned back to the job at hand.

Eyes closing he lowered his head and took the man into his mouth, keeping his mouth opened and his lips curled around his teeth in order to avoid accidents. The hand resting on his head did nothing but ride it up and down, fingers twitching as the once flaccid flesh heavy against his tongue started to harden. With his gag reflex long ago learned to be controlled, he was able to continue his doing unhindered as it got more and more uncomfortable. Faster now, the back of his throat started taking abuse, his nose landing again and again in the stinky pubic hair, saliva started to dribble past the corners of his mouth. But still, he continued.

There were happy noises coming from above him, the lazy posture occasionally twitching. But the hips hadn’t started thrusting upwards yet, which told Spencer he wasn't doing a good enough job, so he started sucking. That caused a pleased laugh, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw Clark reach over to the side table, and the soft _krsshhhh_ sound of a beer bottle top being removed followed shortly by deep drink and happy slurping.  
Clark heaved a sigh, with his attention half on the game and half on the action right in front of him. Twisting his head he noticed the boys eyes were closed, a tear forcing its way out and down the bony cheek. He pursed his lips and tightened his hand in the messy curls forcing the boy to stop.

Confused and somewhat preoccupied Spencer stopped his administrations, but held his position. The leaking penis was resting against his tongue and he could feel the pulse running alongside the shaft. But he dare not look up or take it out of his mouth without permission or until he was done. So, he was confused when the hand that was tightened in his hair lifted his head up and allowed the man to fall out of his mouth, showing no concern when it bounced slightly upon release.

Holding his breath, fearing he had done something wrong and had incurred the wrath of the man who now controlled him, he sputtered somewhat in surprise when slightly cold, frothy beer was tipped down and splashed across his face and the appendage in front of him. The bitter drink leaked out until it completely covered not only the penis and Spencer himself but also the legs and sofa underneath, but Clark didn’t seem to care. Then the hand holding the now beer-drenched hair, lowered him again and forcing him to take the now pungent thing into his mouth.

“Thought you might like a drink too, you looked thirsty.” It was the only explanation he was going to get and the sharp jerk to his hair told him clearly to start up again.

Not the fan of beer at the best of times, now was not really the time to try and change his opinion. Clark worked as a construction worker. Why, Spencer didn’t know. The man was a self-made billionaire who had sold some breakthrough software for god knows what to god knows who. He didn’t need to work let alone at a construction company, he didn’t need to do anything. So before, the man’s penis had tasted like unwashed, sweaty workman, and had smelled like it too. Now it was near rancid, and it was all he could do to not gag around the damn thing. He was never going to be able to endure the smell of beer again, let alone the taste of it. The stench and taste were now permeated into his memories, there forever just like all his other memories. He doubted he would ever be able to walk casually into a bar again. At least, if he ever got out of here that is.

No, _when_ , he thought to himself, _when_ , he gets out of here. Because he knew, with all his heart, and what was left of his hope and strength, that his team was coming for him. They wouldn’t stop until Spencer was where he belonged, at home and safe.

  
But right now, he was most certainly _not_ safe. The groaning above him was making him nauseous, and wanting the ordeal over quickly. His tongue expertly started running up and down, stimulating the man beneath him. There were many things he was considered an expert in, and sucking off a psychopath was not one he ever wanted on his resume. The thought alone caused him to groan, the vibrations causing the man to suddenly thrust up into his mouth, driving the penis further down his throat. A happy, pleasured groan sounded above him, the hand tightened again and the sudden stinging caused more tears to leak from his eyes. This needed to end, Spencer didn’t know how much longer he could continue, his pride had long since broken, but his sanity was still there, he hoped. Much more of this and he was afraid that one piece of comfort might shatter.

Picking up speed, he shifted himself more, getting his left arm fully underneath him so it would take his full weight. His right hand reached up and tickled across Clark’s scrotum, hitched breaths were all he heard in response so he started to message gently at the man’s testis, hoping to speed him along. It was about survival now, because this was taking longer than it should have, Clark could easily switch to other ways to meet his needs, and Spencer preferred this method by far. He didn’t even think as he once again started going faster, ignoring the slight smacking sound his face made as it struck the man’s thighs and the surrounding groin area. He was deep throating now, nothing new, he had done it plenty of times now so he knew the best way to go about in order to not suffocate himself. With his throat convulsively swallowing around the tip it took only several more seconds before there was a deep shudder and a hot spray of bitter seed ejaculated down his throat.

Waiting a second, Spencer felt the man above him loosen, the hand fell from his hair, almost boneless. Then with great care, he gave one final suck in order to _get it all_ , before pulling his mouth away. The moment he was free he turned his head and sucked in a desperate breath of air, controlling his urge to gag as his stomach heaved, trying to send what he just worked for back up his esophagus. Letting his head flop back down to the lap underneath him, he completely ignored the uncomfortable strain on his back and the discomfort of having the flaccid penis poking into his hair. He chose not even to acknowledge the smell. Just lying there, Spencer allowed himself to breathe deeply, forcing his heart to calm down and the ache in his chest to dissipate, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about the tears overflowing and bursting through.

After a moment a hand lifted his chin, the beer bottle from before was suddenly in front of him, the neck of the bottle was forced passed his lips. It was tilted and the tart liquid rushed down his throat, he coughed out half of it and it spilled down his chin, but he somehow managed to swallow a large gulp. Anything to get the taste of _that_ man out of his mouth. He was forced to take one more swig, this one far more successful, before he was finally left alone.

Cheers erupted through television speakers causing Spencer to turn his watery attention lazily back to the game that he had completely forgotten about. The Redskins had just scored a touchdown, a happy grunt was the only reply.

Clark waited until the ball was kicked to the opposing team before reaching again to the side table next to him and bringing out a small plastic pouch. Hearing the crinkle of the plastic and the subsequent tearing of the package, he was prepared for the poke to his head, forcing his attention away from the television. With a discrete swipe at his eyes his head turned around so he could look up. A moist towelette was dropped on his face, he grabbed at it and obediently started running it across the man’s body underneath him. He cleaned the man’s genitals with great care first, before moving onto the very upper parts of Clark’s thighs. When he started wiping away the tackiness of the drying beer away, his left arm started shaking, the strain of holding his upper body causing it to vibrate up to his shoulder, but he ignored it. Clark shifted, lifting his ass off the couch so that Spencer knew to get the beer that had spilled there while tossing a clean towelette towards him. When the cushions were cleaned, Spencer was allowed to clean off his own face, glad to have had a second towelette given to him so that he would not have been forced to use the one that had been used on the man’s penis. When done, he handed both towelettes off to Clark who took them and balled them up before tossing them into the small waste can. Then, because he knew he was allowed, Spencer rested his head once again on the man’s well muscled thigh. Not his idea of an ideal pillow, but he was too drained to even care about any of it, not even the still exposed genitals.

They sat there for a bit more, watching as the defense of the home team rushed at the opposing team. And again, it wasn’t until the ball was once again in the Redskin’s possession that Spencer felt a hand grab his shoulder and start pulling him off his stomach and back onto his side. Spencer whimpered, not wanting anything to do with the man curling his body above him right now, but he had no choice in the matter. With a great deal of shuffling and twisting, Spencer found himself sitting up with his back pressed to Clark’s chest, both of them now sitting on the end of the couch, the recliner opened and Spencer being hugged between Clarks legs.

Sometime during the shuffling Clark had managed to kick off the rest of his pants and briefs, leaving him completely naked from the waist down. It didn’t seem to bother the man as he purred into Spencer’s ear and forced him to tilt his head back so that it was pillowed by a collar bone. Spencer, in turn, forced his attention instead back to the game.

Except the game could not hold his attention anymore, Clark was running his hands up and down his torso, feeling him through the thin cotton material of the almost too tight, plain white t-shirt he wore, the only type of t-shirt he was permitted to wear. The purring continued and a hand slipped underneath the t-shirt where it played with his stomach, the dancing fingers causing the muscles to spasm and jump. Spencer breathed deeply and calmly, making sure as not to panic, even when the hands started to dance lower.

Ever so non-discretely, Clark slipped two fingers just past the elastic of the plaid pajama bottoms Spencer wore. The warm fingers traced a line between hips, slightly fingering the jutting bones. “Spence.” The voice was hardly a whisper. Spencer slammed his eyes shut, grimacing as JJ’s face briefly flashed across his vision.

“ _Did you know she’s the only one in the whole world who calls me Spence_?” He remembered saying that to Gideon all those years ago. God, it was like a lifetime. So much had happened since then that had changed him forever. He willed those memories away, the pure goodness that was his life with his friends, his _family_ , had absolutely no business in this house. It was too late though, that mental picture of the sweet smile that JJ had for him whenever she called him “Spence,” was tarnished forever. So much was happening now that would change him forever.

“Spencer.” A warning, he had not followed through with the request, this was a warning.

With shaky fingers Spencer grasped the edges of the bottoms and slowly guided them down, lifting his lower body in order to slip it off all the way. When he couldn’t push them down further without leaving the clutches of the arms, Clark used his feet to snag and push the material further down until the pants were completely off. Now he too was exposed fully, just like Clark, he was not allowed to wear underwear. It was a rule that was established to permit easy access at all times, clothes were a luxury that he had only earned just two weeks ago. Before that he had been completely naked at all times. He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when warm fingers grasped him, and immediately his lids closed over his eyes. Then he prayed that this torment, this _humiliation_ , would be over quickly and that he could be done for the night.

Clark slowly started to stimulate the man half on top of him, categorizing in great delight each noise that came from his prize. He could feel the younger man twitching, the skinny feet slowly started to skid across the smooth leather, trying to push his body away from the jerking hand. A thrill ran from down his spine when he began to feel the flesh engorge beneath his fingers. Spencer whimpered in pain, obviously he was feeling the discomfort of the cock ring that had been placed on him earlier. A punishment after he had made a mess without permission.

Breathing deeply, he took in the scent of sex, fear, and sweat. His eyes trailed down the exposed neck, watching with fascination as the adam’s apple bobbed after a thick swallow. Sweat was just barely beginning to shine on the long neck, and with a small twist of his head he was able to run his tongue slowly along the entire length, enjoying the shudder it caused. Clark attached his lips to the pulsing skin and started sucking, at the same time his eyes traveled back over to the television. He harrumphed, catching the attention of Spencer. Hazel eyes looked at him from the corner of his lids, his mouth gaping as it sucked in desperate breath after desperate breath.

With lips leveled at an ear he explained. “We lost the ball.” Clark was basically buzzing, and lustful eyes caught the bobbing of the adam’s apple a second time.

He continued to watch the game, it was after all what he really had wanted to do tonight. This little party had just been a surprise decision on his part, a spur of the moment ordeal. The hand encircling the cock of the kid continued to play up and down, teasing and roughing it. The other hand that had been exploring the belly underneath the shirt was moved to grab the beer, it was almost gone now. He took a swig before bringing it around and offering it to Spencer who automatically opened his mouth to allow the liquid to be poured. Clark watched him swallow all of it down, just like he had been taught. It made him feel immensely pleased with himself.

“Are you in pain, Spence?” He asked the question out of mild curiosity, wondering if he would tell the truth.

Spencer’s eyes were shut tightly, his skin wrinkled around the corners, lips pulled tight over his teeth. Obviously, he was doing his best to escape the moment, Clark had seen this face many times, it usually took a special thing or two to get him out of this state of mind. However, he was pleased to see a jerked nod as answer to his question, followed by a violent hip thrust as Clark pulled rather briskly at the stiff cock. Once again the bony feet scrambled somewhat desperately and catching slightly at the legs encircling them.

“ _Guh-huh_.” Escaped the man’s lips, Clark immediately stopped his administrations. He was close, his little love was close, but he had been a naughty boy earlier, he would have to wait. Desperate hip thrusts shot into the air, trying to catch any friction to end his agony. Clark moved a hand to lie on a hip bone, Spencer whimpered and something akin to a sob escaped him. Comfortingly, Clark started rubbing small circles.

“Look Spence,” His chin came to rest on the shoulder in front of him, “It’s only five minutes till half-time. We’ve still got all night my sweet boy.”

Spencer looked at the television in dismay. There could still be hours left in the game, he didn’t think he would be able to stand it. His head rolled away from everything, his eyes locked on the far wall. He wanted _away_ , he wanted the safety of his apartment, with his books spanning centuries. He wanted to taste Penelope’s get-well cookies, and be engulfed in Morgan’s glad-your-okay awkward bear-hug. Hell, he’ll even go for Rossi’s slight shoulder shake or Hotch’s gloomy-gus face.

But most of all, he wanted his mother, and like a child he cried for her, prayed for her. Just like he did that day when he was tied to the goal post, he prayed that she would sense something was wrong, that she would come for him, rescue him. Tears spilled from his eyes, a sob escaped his lips and then wouldn’t stop, choking him. His chest hitched as his breaths became out of control, gasping as snot began falling along with waves of tears. He couldn’t stop, his despair was peaking, his strength and intelligence, his last barriers against what was happening to him, shattering. How was he going to survive this, how could anyone survive this?

Then, Spencer felt his body moving, his sobs still shaking his entire body. Now he was being cradled, curled on his side, pressed up against his tormenter, up against parts of the man’s anatomy he wish he didn’t know. But it felt so good, having the arms engulf him, and for a minute he could imagine his father holding him when he was seven, when he fell off his bike after his training wheels had finally been taken off. Even a child genius needed to learn balance. They had spent that night curled against each other, the three of them, Spencer in the middle cradling his aching arm after receiving five stitches. It was one of the happiest memories he had, his mother and father surrounding him, with Diana Reid’s voice reading that Valentine’s Day poem that he would later forget. So he fell into the man’s arm, desperately seeking out the comfort he craved, yet never able to get from this particular man.

They sat there, with Spencer curled in the lap, his legs rearranged so they jutted out to the side, and his head pillowed against Clark’s chest. He choked back sob, unable to stop as another escaped passed him, he couldn’t control it, it was just too much. Soothing circles against his spine as his hitching sobs slowly dissipated, and his eyes began to droop from utter exhaustion. For the next twenty minutes, they were laid out on the couch, the game continued on in the background, and every now and then Spencer could hear Clark whisper to him, “it’s alright baby,” “I’m here.” The words did nothing to calm him, but the soft tone was something so unlike what he had heard since coming hear that he snatched at it. Desperate to horde the feelings of reassurance that bubbled up with those words.

And then he dozed, surprised that Clark had even let him, through the third quarter, only starting awake anytime Clark raised his voice.

When the fourth quarter started, Clark began to shift. He had started some time ago to lazily trail his fingers across the fabric of the t-shirt Spencer still wore. Now he was gently grabbing the genius and letting his fingers flutter at the edges of the shirt.

Still slightly dazed from his light slumber, Spencer allowed his body to be manipulated into a half sitting position, barely registering the shirt being lifted off his body until it caught on his arms. His resistance was brief, after a hand lightly touched the still half stiff erection, he held his arms over his head and allowed the shirt to be pulled off of him like a child. With the shirt gone he shivered as he sat there, watching lazily as Clark managed to maneuver himself out of his own shirt before tossing both shirts over the back of the sofa.

Grabbing Spencer’s shoulders he then twisted the both of them until he, with some difficulty, was being straddled by the blue-eyed man. Clark licked his lips as his eyes traveled over the body beneath him. Nervous eyes watched him, while a finger trailed down the exposed sternum, over the hands folded tightly together and resting protectively on his stomach, and down to the slightly engorged cock. He was probably only in mild discomfort, enough time had passed for it to dissipate some but light administrations throughout the third quarter while Spencer had been dozing was enough to keep it going. Now though, it had shrunk enough that it was probably safe to remove the ring, so he did.

Ignoring the moan of relief beneath him, Clark shimmied his way down the lean body until he was right above the weeping cock, his own body weight causing the foot rest to dip slightly. Looking up he noticed Spence had his head turned away, towards the television. The game was still in full swing, almost the entire fourth quarter had to be played. The Redskins were winning, and against a highly capable team too. Smiling again, Clark reached up and grabbed the sharp chin, forcing eye contact between the two.

“Looks like you’re my good luck charm, Spence. Look at them boys beat those sea-chickens.” The terrified eyes widened further, his lip trembling ever so slightly before it was sucked behind the upper lip and out of sight, “Keep your eyes on me.” A blink was the only sign that he had been heard, and so he felt it safe to dip his head down and fill his mouth.

Sick sucking sounds started as soon as Clark took him. Spencer felt his head fall back, his body pressed into the reclined chair, trying desperately to free himself. Immediately, there was shooting pain traveling from his groin all the way up his sternum. Clark was biting him, punishing him for looking away. With shaking breathes, he forced his head up so he could watch his rapist suck him. The blonde head kept bobbing up and down and there was spreading warmth up through his navel area. He didn’t want this, and he knew, he knew it was nothing more than his body being manipulated, it was only a physiological response. There was no control on his part, not with this stimulation. But that didn’t make watching Clark lick at the area of his missing foreskin, sucking up the precum before diving back down the shaft, or having this blissful feeling engulfing him any easier.

Against his wishes, Spencer’s hips bucked almost violently upwards, forcing Clark to pause, his eyes meeting Spencer’s dazed expression. He slowly pulled away, swallowing slightly before talking. “Remember Spence, you’re not allowed until I say so, or I’ll put the ring back on, and this time I’ll add the vibrator.” Clark watched carefully before getting a quick nod, and then he was back again. Feeling his heart racing beneath his chest and his breathing getting quicker, Spencer sucked in a breath and willed mental images of his mother. He couldn’t let go, not yet, not with his mother at the forefront of his mind, _what would she think of this_ , he had to distract himself. His arms flung up behind him to grab at something, and found the head rest of the recliner seat. His finger clutched down, gripping the sides with white-knuckle force, his face set in a grimace as his head turned to the side. Clark didn’t even notice.

He could feel himself start to panic, he wouldn’t be able to hold out much long. But the thought of having the ring vibrate through the night forced him into survival mode. His mother’s pictures weren’t working, Spencer didn’t think he would be able to look her in the eye for a long time, not after thinking of her as this was happening to him. He pulled up his mental storage data bases, flicking through pictures of Morgan, Emily, Alex, Rossi, Hotch, and Garcia in rapid session. His breath hitched when for a split second he thought of Henry. _NO_! No, matter what he would _Never_ be that desperate.

Instead he thought about Tobias Hankel, and the burning fish guts in the shed. Then Adam and Amanda, and what was done to those Spring-Breakers. Anything to distract him from the painful burning in his lower abdomen and what was happening.

There was a _pop_ , and Clark sat up, his hand still encircling. Spencer stared at him with wide, desperate eyes. Clark allowed himself to sit back and observe the rapid breathing of his sweet boy, the sweat soaked chest and neck, and the sounds of desperation. He leaned in real close, “It’s okay, you can say it now. You have to say it Spence.”

The mouth before him opened and closed rapidly in a fish-like sequence. Sighing, Clark let go and moved to walk away. A short cry of anxiety stopped him, smirking he turned and quirked his brow expectedly.

A soft voice, “I…I do.”

“You what Spence, you have to tell me, remember.”

His eyes closed, “I w-want it. I want it bad.”

“You want it bad?” A shaky nod, “And you want it from me?”

“Y-yes! _Guh_! Only you, no one else, it-it h-has to be you!”

Clark smiled, “Well if you insist.”

Spencer nodded rapidly, his fingers tightened their grip on the sofa, “Yes, I-I do. _Ungah_! I r-really do!”

“Well, twist my arm.”

With two powerful strokes and a gasp of relief, Spencer felt the release shudder all the way through him. And on him. Warm sticky semen splashed across his and Clark’s face and torso. His body stood still, his mind frozen, the all too familiar feeling of humiliation poked at the forefront, he squashed it. Couldn’t afford to feel like that, not if he wanted to survive.

In his after orgasm haze, he watched stupidly as Clark ran his fingers over the warm liquid, sucking his fingers delightedly, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head, moaning in pleasure. Then he was back, reaching over the still the man in post-orgasmic fog and snatching at a packet. He used the towelette on himself first, making sure to get everything. Next, he used the now slightly smelly moist fabric to clean off Spencer. He wasn’t as gentle with the genitals as his compatriot had been, smiling when the man whimpered in pain when the alcohol touched his sensitive cock. With that done he tossed the now soiled towelette.

Once again he grabbed hold of Spencer’s shoulders and carefully turned him on his side, then shimmied up behind him. Giving him more room up at the arm rest, he pulled the other man flush against him, arms and legs curling around and tangling themselves in long limbs.

The game still had eight minutes to go, which translated to roughly half an hour left. Clark settled himself behind his boy, sighing contentedly.

For Spencer, he lay there compliantly, shifting only to ease the pressure on his left arm where it was pinned beneath him. He swallowed as silent tears ran down his cheek. He felt completely spent, like a cheap whore. Maybe because he was one, he was nothing but a common sex toy for a psychopathic-narcissist, probably with a little bit of sexual-sadist thrown in, _definitely_ some sexual-sadism. It was hard to think otherwise as he was being spooned by the man, lying naked in an ugly room.

Deep, peaceful breathing puffed behind him. Shifting only minutely to look behind him, Spencer confirmed that Clark was asleep. On reflex he shifted his legs, and felt the steel of a foot shackle pinching his left ankle just as it had been all night. His tired eyes followed the chain, skipping over his pajama pants bundled around the chain, watching it disappear before it reappeared again, attached firmly to a steel eye bolt screwed tightly into the floor. Even if he could sit up without waking Clark, he was still unable to escape, just like every other day.

Then, like he had every day for the full two and a half months since he got here, he prayed that his team was looking, and that his friends were on their way to take him home. To be taken away from this private hell.

 _Please_!

**Author's Note:**

> *Hey, Jacob Dawes is the serial killer that the Team interviewed in like season 1, had an affinity for arches in his architectural designs. He also had a wife Sarah Jane, she was supposed to have killed their son Riley, ring any bells. Those two.
> 
> Also, just so you know, because I am an American and I do not know who reads the stuff on this site when I say football I mean American Football. Basically the idea of the game for those who don't know is to get the ball ten yards within 4 plays, or 4 downs. If you don't, the other team gets the ball. There is a LOT more detail than that but really that's all you need to know. Oh, and the quarterback is basically responsible for getting the ball down the field, the wide receiver is also basically just the guy who receives the ball (go figure) and runs it. I don't really know more than that, someone probably knows a whole lot more than me but that's what the internet is for, confused just google it. That's how i write my papers for school, works great.


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